Promises and Memories 2
by StatsGrandma57
Summary: This is a joint story, written with 2Old4This2, and it's our tribute to the late and beloved Leia. We write in Legends. This is Han's story of dealing with Leia's death. It's taken us the better part of a year to finally get this ready, due to the constant interference of RL. We hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Promises and Memories**

 **Chapter 1**

Han sat on the veranda of his home on Corellia, his eyes searching. Then he blinked. Whatever it was he sought, it was obvious that he wasn't finding it. Out of habit, he turned his questing eyes to the chair at his right. It was empty. Han sucked in a sharp breath and shut his eyes to block out the pain. Running his hand through his shaggy grey hair, he turned his gaze back to the ocean, breathing in its sweet, salty scent.

His life would never be the same.

Four months ago, he'd been sitting in the same chair, basking in warm sun. They'd talked about Jarik's wedding the previous day, and the fact that all the kids were out of the house. Finally. They were delighted that now was the time they'd always yearned for. Grandkids were the best thing to happen, they agreed, because you could play with them, and spoil them, and fill them with sweets, and then send them home to their parents. It was all going to be perfect, except that now it wasn't. How could it be perfect without Leia.

"This was supposed to be out time." He spoke softly, almost reverently, as if addressing a god. Or a ghost.

Han shifted in his chair, every ache and infirmity of advancing years making itself known. He and Leia used to laugh about the sound of their creaking joints. He gazed wistfully at the empty chair. He had never considered the possibility that he would be the one who had to carry on alone.

A sudden gust of wind and a crash of waves turned his attention back to the sea. The gentle turquoise colored waves of summer had become a cold spray of angry grey water. There were rain clouds on the horizon. Han was strangely grateful for the gloomy weather; it matched his mood.

Han shifted his eyes from the empty beach to look at the house. It was their house—his and Leia's—their gift to themselves after years of living in a cramped flat lost among the transparasteel and permacrete towers of Coruscant. They'd lived on the city planet for Leia's work, but Han had never liked the crowds, nor the noise, nor the smells of that surrounded them on a daily basis. He hadn't much liked the constant hounding of his family by the media, either.

As it turned out, neither had Leia. When she was through with the frantic, thankless pace of public life, it had been her idea to move to the Southern continent of Corellia, where they could smell the ocean, feel the soft grasses beneath their feet, and enjoy the fragrance of flowering plants on the gentle breeze.

The flowers were gone now in the cooler temperatures, Han thought, but they would return in the spring. Leia would not. He wondered how he could ever get used to the idea.

Just then, the light autumnal mist decided to show some teeth, pelting Han with sharp needles of icy water. He jumped up and to the door.

"This place is way too big for one person," he observed as he palmed the door open and stepped inside, brushing the rain from his head. Water splattered onto the floor and a small table. Krif.

"Sorry about the mess," he called out. "I'll clean it up." Force of habit, he realized, even as he felt the sharp pain of loss yet again.

Han was hunting for a rag when he felt his comm vibrate; he was certain it was one of the kids. He looked down at the display—Jaina. Of the four, she called most frequently.

"Hey, sweetie," he answered, his voice friendly. "What can I do for you?"

"Just calling to see how you are," his daughter answered. Her sweet contralto sounded so much like Leia it was unnerving.

"I'm fine, honey," Han assured her.

"Sure you are," responded Jaina tartly, but Han could hear compassion in her voice. "Come to dinner tomorrow night." It wasn't a request so much as an order. Their only daughter certainly took after her mother, Han thought, one eyebrow raised.

"You don't have to keep doing this, Jaina," stated Han. She'd been inviting him to her home at least twice a week since Leia had passed. It was remarkably kind—and just like her—but she had her own family, her own life. He didn't want to impinge on their special time.

"Just come tomorrow. See you at 19:00." Jaina ended the comm.

Han shook his head and smiled in surrender. His daughter was a strong, remarkable woman. Jaina ran Less Than Twelve Parsecs shipping now, with Jarik's assistance, always keeping it true to Han's founding principles. He felt his fingers twitch a little. He missed flying sometimes, but now it just didn't feel right, like it had when he and Leia were traveling together.

Just as tomorrow would wouldn't be quite right either, without Leia. He loved his children, and his grandchildren; that was never in doubt. And he loved playing with Thora and Kyel, as well as visiting with Jaina and her husband. Han's somber face softened with a smile. His granddaughter was proving to be just as much a handful as had her mother and grandmother before her. Leia's stubbornness—er, tenacity—were being passed to future generations. But that comfort didn't take away the weirdness.

He didn't think anything could.

The quiet house was almost eerie, Han thought, as his boots echoed with each step. It wasn't the chaos of the children he missed—he didn't—but the subliminal hum of another occupant. Any other occupant. Earlier in the year, the handsome black pitten Leia had given him as a gift years before had passed on. In the chaos of preparation for Jarik's wedding they hadn't had a chance to search for a new one. Right now, Han wouldn't mind having one of the demanding little creatures to tend. Or he could invite Threepio back.

No.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips; Han wasn't _that_ desperate.

"Lights, two-thirds," he ordered the household system. A warm, bright glow filled the house. "This weather would depress a gundark," he muttered as he peered out a window at the storm-darkened sky. Han found he needed more light now than he used to. It made sense; half his light was gone.

This is ridiculous, he told himself, pushing away his mawkish thoughts. He needed to do something.

Anything. Han opted for smashball.

Grabbing a glass on his way through the kitchen, Han paused at the spirits cabinet and poured himself two fingers of his favorite Corellian spiced whiskey. His children, all four of them, had warned him not to drink too much. He puffed out a laugh. If they only knew. He barely touched the stuff now, the drinking was mostly out of habit. He'd lost his taste for it since Leia was gone.

Lowering himself carefully onto the sofa, Han grimaced a little as his joints ground and crackled in complaint. Getting old was not as easy as it looked. He and Leia were always laughing that it was a good thing they weren't fighting the Rebellion now, their noisy bones would have given them away. He and Leia had always laughed, past tense. Han rubbed his eyes, shoving away the thought.

His uncooperative mind wandered back to the victory celebration after the battle of Endor. Talk about uncomfortable—roughing it in mud and twig huts, eating and drinking whatever it was their furry little Ewok allies were serving, getting horribly drunk on their berry wine. He could still smell the cooking fires and hear the constant drumming from the little guys' drums. A gentle smile played across Han's expressive lips. It had been the best night of his life, because he'd asked—finally—and Leia had said yes. They were going to spend the rest of their lives together. And they had. Until now.

Han turned on the holo tank with a decided click, and muted it almost immediately as his comm sounded again. This time it was Jarik.

"What's up, buddy?" Right now, Han was most comfortable with his youngest son. There wasn't all that Force stuff to deal with, like there was with the other three; Jarik was just a guy missing his mom, like Han was missing his wife. Those feelings were simple, practical, understandable.

"I need to get some supplies to Lysandra," Jarik announced without preamble. "Quick." Jarik's wife Lysandra was an emergency medic, currently working on Tatooine, which was dealing with a nasty bout of civil insurrection. There seemed to be a lot of that happening throughout the galaxy right now.

"And you want to take the _Falcon_ ," responded Han with a sigh.

"Well, she is the fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy," his son stated, with pride as strong as Han's.

Han groaned, mostly for show. Secretly, he delighted in Jarik's love for the _Falcon_ , and he knew that the old girl was built for flying, not lying dormant in her hangar. "Not a scratch, you hear?" warned Han, like he had dozens of times before.

"Dad, how many times have I put a scratch on her?" Jarik demanded, sounding wounded. Han could picture his son at the other end of the comm, shaking his shaggy brown hair, one eyebrow raised.

"Kid, I've lost count," Han replied dryly. "Yeah, go ahead and take her. And don't forget to tell your wife you love her."

"Dad!" Jarik objected, sounding offended. Then his voice softened. "You doing okay?" he asked his father.

"I'm fine. Get going, kid. You're wasting precious time," Han told him firmly, ending the comm.

 _Of course_ _I'm okay,_ Han thought defiantly. It was as good a description as any, he realized. He was living, functioning, what more could they ask for? As to the real answer to the question, as soon as he figured it out himself, he'd let them know.

He was just about to set his comm to silent when it buzzed again. This time it was Jacen. Han cringed, just a little. Jacen was the most sensitive of the kids, both through the Force, and by nature of his personality. Han needed to be the most careful with him, he knew his son felt his father's pain acutely.

"Hey, Jace, what's going on?" Han asked, sounding as cheerful as was reasonable.

"Not much. I was wondering if we could get together, do some music sometime. I've got some ideas for some songs, but I was hoping you could help me out with them." Jacen had inherited Han's musical skills, and had his own band, just as Han had, in his day. Two of his former bandmates had died, Han realized. _This getting old business really stinks,_ he thought grumpily.

"Yeah, we could do that. You're the one with the full schedule," Han observed. "The weekend?"

"I'm on call one of the days, but I don't know which one yet," grumbled Jacen. "But, yeah, we'll do the day I'm free. Are you good with that?"

"Sure, I'm looking forward to it." Han hadn't picked up an instrument in years, except to play for himself and Leia; he was probably going to be awful. Not that he would say that to Jacen, of course.

"Great! Hang in there, dad. Mom will be mad if you don't." Jacen said.

"No doubt. See you this weekend." Han ended the comm, a little unnerved. Jacen had said _will,_ not _would._ Was Jacen still in communication with his mother through the Force? Leia and Luke had both talked about speaking with the spirits of beings who had passed. And if Leia was talking to the kids, couldn't she stop by and see him, too? No. He shook his head; that was just nonsense.

Looking down at the comm in his hand, Han considered just turning the stupid thing off. He hadn't felt much like talking to anyone since Leia had died, but he couldn't very well ignore their children. That would piss Leia off, no matter where she was. He wished she were here, in the flesh, ready to give him a well-deserved (probably) telling off. He could see her: eyes blazing, one hand balled on her curvy hip, giving him what-for in no uncertain terms. He missed that; gods how he missed that.

He missed her.

Han took an unconscious sip of his drink, startled as he remembered it was whiskey, and stared at the muted smashball game on the tank. He glanced down at the bottom of the screen to see who was playing—no teams he cared about—but it was too much like work to search for something he wanted to see. His thoughts flew back to Leia, as they almost always did.

Of course he missed her; how could he not? She was his soul-mate. Oh, yeah, he'd put up a good front at first, but she'd stolen his heart and soul months before he was willing to admit it, even to himself. Even though she was an uppity, stuck-up Princess who knew everything about everything, giving orders like she was the Maker herself—that was his story and he was sticking to it—there had always been something about Leia… A spark? There certainly had been a spark when he kissed her, finally, in the circuitry bay of the Falcon on the slow trip to Bespin. It had been the spark that sealed the deal. He knew then there was no way he was letting her get away from him again.

But life had had other plans. It always did.

Leia's retirement from public service had revitalized her. When she had started teaching at the local university, it ignited a spark in her Han hadn't seen for years. And it allowed them to have a life _together,_

something they'd never really had a chance to try, in all their years.

However, though the galaxy was freed from the Emperors toxic rule, it was still a complicated place, held together by a fragile web of agreements and treaties. There were times when Leia had needed to find a substitute for her classes and apply a little glue to whatever diplomatic cracks were forming. Jaina, now a mother herself, had had to deal with the universal experience of sick kids, and there were times when Han would substitute for her on some freight runs. It had been one of those times when they were both gone that their perfect life had gone to all the nine hells.

Both Han and Leia had gotten back from their respective journeys safely, but tired, which was always the case—they weren't getting any younger. But Leia couldn't shake the tiredness this time; it kept getting worse and worse, until she took to sleeping most of the day as well as the night. Han, worried, had suggested a trip to the medcenter. Leia refused, saying she'd be fine in a few days, if Han would stop fussing and just leave her alone. By the time she was cold and shaking and could barely breathe and they rushed her to the medcenter, it was too late. No treatment: organ replacement, bacta, or any combination would save Leia from the freak virus bent on stealing her life. He was with her at the end, as the essence of Leia left her body, taking a large portion of himself along with it.

Han's eyes shut in pain. If only he'd seen how ill she was sooner. If only he'd insisted she go to the medcenter sooner. Hells, he should have called Lysandra. He swallowed against the tightness in his chest. He'd been assured by anyone and everyone who knew that there was nothing he could have done that would have changed anything. But the thought haunted him; he knew he would never be sure. He would carry that particular piece of guilt with him forever.

His comm went off again. _Yup, definitely should_ _have turned the kriffing thing off,_ he cursed. But that would upset the children, and they already had more than enough to deal with. They were adults with their own lives, he wouldn't add to their concerns by disappearing. So he left it on. Sure enough, when he looked at it, it was Anakin. Which made sense; he was the only left to check on him today.

"Is this the night to descend on dear old Dad?" he said to his second son, irritation mingled with affection.

Anakin, always an easygoing soul, laughed out loud. "That's every night, Dad. Hey, any chance Bekha and I could drop by at some point? We're planning to put a holobook together to, you know, remember Mom."

"Forgotten her already?" Han teased, ignoring the twinge of fear at that possibility.

"Never," Anakin declared with another laugh. "She'd never allow it." The younger man's voice softened, and seemed to grow a little tentative. "But we'd like to copy some of the holos from your house. We have a lot, but not like the collection you and Mom have." He paused for a breath. "If you wouldn't mind," he finished.

Han thought about the walls in this house that were covered in holos, one after another in varying patterns and arrays. They told the story of lives: his and Leia's, the kids, friends, even the parade of pittens that had tagged along for the ride. Han could hardly bear to look at them now, but someday… And Anakin and his wife would do a good job, putting them all together.

"Copying's fine. No 'borrowing,'" Han reminded him gently, his lips cresting into a slight smile.

"Do I look like Jarik to you?" Anakin laughed heartily. Han knew his son missed his mother horribly, but

Anakin faced life calmly, and somehow found joy in everything.

"Thank the gods, no," Han chuckled.

"And I haven't 'borrowed' any tools from you in years," Anakin added.

"No, that's your younger brother, even though he has his own," Han groaned. "Come over anytime."

"When's Chewie coming back?"

"I don't know. Hopefully not tonight, I'm not in the mood to clean up fur." declared Han, although he really was missing his friend.

"I can send Threepio over to help," Anakin taunted, knowing for long years just how his dad felt about the golden protocol droid.

"Oh, no!" Han objected. He paused a beat. "Hang in there, buddy," he told his son.

"That's my line to you," Anakin reminded him. "Night, Dad," he said, ending the comm.

Han set his own unit to mute and dropped it on the counter with a thud. His children had all checked in. He was done taking comms for the evening. Dusk had settled in; it would soon be dark. He could stop pretending he was fine now, and just be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Promises and Memories**

 _Chapter 2_

Han woke up the next morning, feeling better than he had in a long time, and better than he had any right to feel, even though he'd pulled an all-nighter; the first one in years. When he realized he was fully clothed on Leia's side of the still made bed, he'd been surprised. He hadn't done that in a long time, either.

His first coherent thought: he needed kaf.

As he pulled himself into a sitting position and threw his legs over the edge of the bed he noted that at he'd at least taken his boots off before he'd crashed. That was an accomplishment of sorts. Running his hand across his stubbly chin and through his tousled hair, he paused. Debating between kaf and a shower, he decided that kaf had to come first. He padded in rumpled clothes and stockinged feet toward the kitchen, aiming directly for the brewer. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Han sipped the strong, black brew, and thought about the night before.

Instead of sitting down and watching smashball as he'd intended, Han had gone prowling through the house, looking at the collections of holos. It was all Anakin's fault, he thought. He went from one set to the next, looking at small children now grown, at young parents who both seemed simultaneously happy and ready to pull their hair out by the roots: in other words, at a life well lived. By the time he reached a favorite family portrait—proud Han and Leia, uncomfortable looking adolescent twins, Anakin hanging onto an aging, unhappy Spot, and toddler Jarik grinning for the camera—Han could feel tears streaming down his face. He quickly wiped them away, glad there was no one there to see him. _He was Han_ freaking _Solo._ And Han Solo did not crumble, dammit.

Venturing into Leia's study, however, was another thing entirely. Han hadn't been in this room since his wife's death, and now as he stood in front of the closed door, his hand hesitated at the control panel for longer than he cared to admit. Then, in one quick burst, he pushed the open button and took two long strides into the room. He stopped dead, grasping at a cabinet as he felt all the air suck out of his lungs. For one frightening, breathtaking moment, he saw Leia looking up from whatever she was working on, smiling welcomingly at him.

Han shook his head to clear it. He knew, of course, that wasn't possible, even though the apparition seemed so real. Leia was gone, and he knew it. Except here, in this room; here she was everywhere. He drew in one ragged breath, then another, reining in his wild emotions, before he let go of the cabinet and began a slow circuit around Leia's private sanctum.

He didn't touch anything at first, only looked at the stacks of datapads and memory chips piled high on the desk. They were haphazardly arranged in some sort of system only Leia knew. There were more datapads on the wide windowsill behind the desk: serious texts she used for her classes, histories of the Rebellion and the New Republic, and one, lone diplomatic pouch. Han smiled; that was all Leia. On the wall across the desk were holos of the kids as babies, and a picture of their wedding day. Han felt his tears start again when he discovered a blurry holo on the desk, half hidden behind some memory chips. It was a candid shot—probably taken by one of the Rogues, judging by the shaky holography—of Han and Leia sitting close together on one of those unsteady Endor walkways, watching the celebration after the destruction of the second Death Star. How she had gotten it, Han had no idea, but his credits were

on Wedge Antilles. Wedge had always been among their best friends.

Han had no idea how long he held it in his hand and stared at it before he finally stumbled off to bed, placing the holo he still clung to reverently on the nightstand.

Draining his mug, he plunked it down on the counter next to the brewer; he'd have more after he cleaned himself up. As he headed toward the fresher, and the shower, he caught sight of his comm on the counter, blinking steadily and incessantly. He glanced over at the chrono, it was past ten. Kriff! The damn thing came off Do Not Disturb at eight, and he hadn't even heard it. He hoped it wasn't one of the kids trying to get him. He picked it up and checked the display.

Luke. Luke again. Luke a third, and fourth time.

That was unusual. Luke didn't comm him as often as the kids did, and he wasn't as likely to worry about him the way they did. Han hoped nothing had gone wrong with his friend or his family. That's all they would need. He reached over, thumbed on the device, punching in Luke's code.

"Luke?" Han began. "Hey, kid, what's going—"

"Han!" Luke's voice came through the speaker. "I've been trying to reach you all morning."

"Yeah, I saw that." Han leaned back against the counter. "What's up?"

"I'm here on planet, and thought I'd come by for a visit." Luke paused for a moment. "Are you okay?"

Han clenched his teeth. He was getting a little tired of that question. _How did everyone think he was doing?_ He'd punched out holoreporters for less.

"I'm fine. I just had a late night." He ran his hand over the day's growth of bristly beard. "Give me a few minutes and I can meet you for kaf or something."

"It's too late for that," the voice from the comm announced. "I'm outside your door."

 _Great,_ he groaned to himself. Han switched off the comm and headed toward the front door. _Hells! Couldn_ ' _t the great Jedi Master call before he showed up at a guy_ ' _s front door. Not everyone could read minds!_

To be fair, Luke had called, Han reminded himself as he palmed the door open.

"Several times," Luke concluded as he stood smiling outside his friend's home.

"Don't do that!" Han grumbled, stepping aside to let the younger man in.

As always, Luke wore his Jedi robes. Young was a relative term, Han supposed. Though Han had always thought of his friend as young, the naïve farm boy was long gone. Luke's hair had greyed and he wore a neatly trimmed beard; he looked like old-man Kenobi. It was disconcerting. But even with the beard, the friendly smile and bright blue eyes still made him the kid, even after all these years.

"Rough night?" Luke asked, his glance taking in the still on, muted holo tank, and the unfinished glass of whiskey on the table.

"No," declared Han as he shut the door. Luke stared rather pointedly at the days growth of beard, tousled hair, and slept in clothes.

Han glared back. "I pulled an all-nighter," he continued, not helping the situation at all. Luke only stood there with his face frozen into that patient 'I can wait all day' Jedi look he was so kriffing good at.

"It's not what it looks like," explained Han as he went back to the kitchen; he needed more kaf. "I went through Leia's study."

Immediately, Luke's face thawed as he took in what Han had told him. "You okay?" he asked again.

"I'm fine," Han repeated. "Want some kaf?"

Luke nodded, then moved back into the front room. Han handed him a mug of kaf, then sat down next to his friend on the sofa.

"So, how'd it go?" the Jedi asked.

"Both bad and really good," Han admitted, pausing to gulp some kaf.

Luke only nodded again. The two men who'd loved Leia most sat in silence and drank their kaf, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I think Chewie's coming over," Luke said suddenly, breaking the companionable silence.

"What?" Han roused from his reverie to look at his brother-in-law. "I think you must be on the wrong wavelength this time, kid. Chewie's home on Kashyyk." Han had sent him to see Malla and Lumpy; he'd wanted to be alone for a time, and Chewie hadn't argued. Much.

At that moment, the doorbuzzer sounded. Luke smiled. Han simply shook his head.

Han flipped on the security screen. Sure enough, Chewbacca stood outside, shifting from one huge foot to another and complaining loudly about the pouring rain.

He hurried to the door, muttering. "Doesn't anyone ever comm first before just showing up?"

"I did," Luke pointed out. "And Chewie never does," he continued.

"Mmph," was all the Corellian had a chance to squeak out. As he palmed open the door, Chewbacca blew inside, accompanied by wind, rain, and the overpowering odor of wet Wookiee. _Not exactly my favorite fragrance._ Icy water splattered everywhere as the wet Wookiee pulled his friend into a bone cracking hug. Luke wisely stepped back, avoiding the worst of the shower.

"Okay! Okay!" Han objected, attempting to push his wet friend off him. He didn't try very hard, though, he'd missed his oldest friend. "You're dripping water everywhere, and you reek!" he complained, by way of greeting.

Chewbacca let out a disgruntled bark as he groused about the wet weather, waving his arms over his head for emphasis. More water flew around the entryway. Han and Luke jumped back.

"Listen, pal," said Han, brushing water droplets off his clothes, "I can't help the weather. Come on in, and go use the drying tube."

Chewbacca halted his monologue on the foul climate his friend had chosen to live in, and raised one furry eyebrow. He awrooed an incredulous question.

"Yes, I mean it. I'll clean the filter later," Han grumbled. "Luke and I were having some kaf. Join us when

you're dried off."

With no further comment, Chewie padded off toward the fresher, leaving a watery trail of footprints behind him. Han stared at the floor with dismay.

"I'd be happy to loan you Threepio," Luke offered with a smile. He grabbed his empty mug and headed back toward the brewer.

Han grabbed his own mug and trailed after his friend. "No!"

"I just thought I'd offer," answered Luke blandly. Han didn't see the Jedi's teasing grin.

"Thanks, I'll pass on slitting my throat," Han retorted.

The two men were seated at the kitchen table by the time Chewie emerged. It had taken longer than Han had expected; the Wookiee must have been soaked. He shuddered at the thought of how clogged the filter in the drying tube would be. Then again, he could make Chewie clean it out.

"Hey, Buddy, what would you like? Kaf, or…" Han started to ask as Chewie walked into the kitchen. He never got a chance to finish. The Wookiee stalked over to the table and stood towering over Han, waving his arms and bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"What? Chewie, slow down! I can't understand what you're saying," Han shouted back, springing to his feet.

The Wookiee began again, at a slightly slower speed and a slightly lower volume, though it was obvious he was still furious with his human friend. As he continued in a cacophony of snarls, growls, barks, and howls, the cause of his anger became clearer, and Han's face grew darker and darker. When Chewie grabbed at Han's disheveled shirt, the man swatted his friend's hand away. Still seated at the table, Luke merely watched the exchange.

"Cut it out!" Han snarled. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Chewie placed his hands on his hips, tilted his head to one side and snorted in disbelief.

"Okay, listen, pal," Han poked one rigid finger into the Wookiee's massive chest. "Yes, there is an unfinished drink in the other room. I poured it last night and never drank it. Yes, the holo tank is still on. On mute. That's because I was trying to watch it last night and the kids kept calling. And yes, I'm a mess, but not because I was drinking. Okay?"

Chewbacca grunted, obviously not convinced, then woofed out a question.

"So, what was I doing?" repeated Han. "I went into Leia's study. Is that okay with you?" he asked, still fuming.

In response, the big Wookiee wrapped his arms around his friend in another smothering hug. At least this time it was a dry hug. From his place at the table, Luke nodded in approval. Chewie released Han and lowed softly, his blue eyes misty.

"I know you miss her, bud," Han answered his friend. "I do, too."

####

Steam billowed around the shower unit as Han let hot water pound down on him. He washed his hair

and scrubbed his body using a little more force than was usual. Had he been so absorbed in his own pain that he hadn't realized his friends were suffering from Leia's loss, as well as him? Han let the soap slick down his naked torso and into the drain. Chewie's tears had bothered him, more than he wanted to admit to himself, and there seemed to be a perpetual sadness in Luke's blue eyes that had never been there before.

Stepping out of the shower, Han reached for a towel to dry himself. He had rarely succumbed to the luxury of the drying tube, unless he went into it to join Leia. It was amazing how long it took them to dry off, sometimes, he remembered. Han suffered a moment of adolescent embarrassment when he realized he had an erection over the memory, even while he mourned things past. Krif! Grieving a spouse wasn't any easier than getting old; no wonder kids didn't do it. It was definitely adults only.

Chewie was on his knees in front of a cabinet filled with old holovids when Han joined his friends in the other room.

"What's he looking for?" Han asked Luke as he joined him in the front room.

"A vid," Luke said.

Han raised one curious eyebrow.

"We were talking about old times," Luke explained. "Happier times. Chewie figured you had to have vids around here someplace. He found them."

Just then, Chewie shouted a triumphant woof and rose lithely to his feet.

"No one of his age should be able to move so easily," Han commented to his brother-in-law, listening to his own joints creak and pop as he lowered himself down next to him on the sofa.

Chewbacca whuffled in amusement.

"Hey, listen pal, humans are not fragile, except maybe compared to hairy beasts like you."

The Wookiee chuckled as he put the vid into the player. Han, swallowed back on the lump in his throat. Yes, humans were fragile, he thought, prone to any number of bugs, microbes, and viruses that could steal their lives away. He remembered Leia, so thin and pale in her last moments, ready to slip away. Fragile. _No_! That was not how he wanted to remember his wife; Leia had been the least fragile being he had ever known.

"So?" Han asked, fighting through his emotions. "What did you pick to watch? Not the Medal Ceremony on Yavin 4, understand me? You always get mad when they don't show you getting your medal!"

Chewbacca fixed each of them with a steely blue stare, before he smiled and sat down on the sofa next to the two men. It sank ominously under the Wookiee's weight, but held firm. He awrooed happily, and hit play.

Panic caused Han's heart to race as he stared at the holo tank. "No, not that one, Chewie. I don't think I can, not yet."

His friend warbled in confusion as he paused the display.

"I know it was one of the happiest days of my life," Han choked out. "But, I'm not ready to relive it."

Another bark from the Wookiee.

"Just because you think it would be good for me, doesn't mean it is," protested Han.

"I'd like to see it," Luke chimed in suddenly.

Han turned to look at Luke. He could see the sadness, and the pain in his friend's face. After all, Leia was his sister. But Luke looked like he really did want to see it. _Come on, Solo!_ he castigated himself. _Man up!_ Anyway, if it got to be too much, he could just snap it off.

He threw back his head and sighed. "Fine. Whatever makes you happy. Queue it up." The simple words 'Our Wedding' floated in the tank.

Then there was a wide shot of the entry foyer to Cantham House. The place was massive, ancient, and Han remembered wondering, at that moment, why they just hadn't eloped. Guests were filing in, beings of every size, shape, and color; at least a thousand of them from every world in the new Republic.

"Can we skip this part? I couldn't care less about these jokers," Han grumbled. Chewie gave a loud groan in agreement and skipped the vid forward. "Stop there," Han directed, catching sight of Leia. The tiny princess, all in white, stood erect and smiling. As the vid continued, a younger Chewbacca extended his hand and he and Leia began their walk. The vid panned to Han, standing at the altar, waiting for the woman he'd never believed would be the one to change him into what he really was meant to be.

Han found himself transfixed as Leia seemed to glide toward the altar, her cheeks flushed, and her smile radiant. Her eyes were fixed on him. Han knew he had been every bit as nervous as he looked in the vid, but his smile matched hers. He winked at her as she moved closer.

Warmth washed over Han as if he were bathed in a golden stream of sunlight. It was exactly the same as he'd felt that day. Occasionally the holocam had panned the crowd, picking out this or that dignitary, but Han hadn't cared who was there. All he saw that day was Leia.

All he saw today was Leia.

On the vid, young Han and Leia knelt at the altar, the officiator speaking the words that would join them for the rest of their lives. Han felt his heart swell as they repeated their vows. The words were simple, but a lifetime of doing all they could to keep them had taught the couple just how hard living up to them could be.

And yet, he and Leia had both done their best. They'd kept their vows, fighting to hold onto them every day of their lives.

At the end, Han turned to Chewie, tears in his eyes, a happy smile on his face.

"We did it Chewie," he said. "Leia and I did it."

####

The three friends spent the rest of the day watching old vids: family vacations, birthday parties, school plays, new pets. Somewhere in the midst the kaf changed to ales, but it seemed as if they never moved. The room was filled with laughter, and with tears, though none of them was willing to admit it. One thing Han had to concede, however, was that he was glad he'd watched them. Who would have thought?

The gloomy day had turned to a wet, wintry twilight. Chewbacca, of course, was thinking about food.

Luke, however, had something else on his mind.

"Han," he began in a conversational tone. "What have you done with Leia's ashes?"

It was a reasonable question, coming from Leia's twin; still, the question surprised Han. Since Leia's memorial he had been keeping the ashes in their bedroom, on top of a high cabinet. He didn't talk to them or anything, the way he heard some did. They were just there. Han would swear he wasn't even aware of their existence half the time, except that he was. Always. Mostly he'd been avoiding the obvious question: did he want them there? And if not, then what.

"They're in the bedroom," responded Han flatly.

"Is that where you want them to stay?" Luke looked into his friend's eyes with unusual intensity.

Well, there it was. He couldn't avoid the issue any longer. If he were being honest with himself, he'd known all along what he would do with the ashes. He knew, with every fiber of his being, what Leia wanted.

"No, kid," Han said. Now that he was saying it, it wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. "I'm going to take her to Alderaan."


	3. Chapter 3

**Promises** **and Memories**

 _Chapter 3_

The _Falcon_ was ready for takeoff; Han, Chewie, and Luke worked quietly through the checklist. Leia's ashes were stowed securely next to Han's seat in the cockpit; their last flight together.

As Han took his pilot's chair, memories flooded through him in a rush. One, in particular, was his very first visit to Alderaan. His friend Muuurgh had been injured while they were both working for the Ylesians, and they'd needed to go to Alderaan for medical assistance. He'd been a teenager then-so long ago! But he still remembered the automatic holovid of Bail Organa, Viceroy of Alderaan, welcoming all visitors to their peaceful world.

Seated on Bail's lap had been a tiny girl with dark braids, dressed in white. It was years later when Han realized that the pretty child from the vid was Princess Leia. If anyone had told him then that that little girl was destined to become the love of his life, that he would marry her and do anything for her, he'd have laughed in their face.

But she had become just that. She'd married him, and they'd spent their lives together, deeply drinking in all the joys—and navigating all the obstacles—that come with living a loving life.

Han's memory jumped go the elderly woman who'd accosted him one night on some planet or another; he'd so drunk, he couldn't recall the planet's name to this day. He'd assumed she was just crazy when she'd wanted to tell his fortune, but her words had never left him: 'What you will not do for money, you will do for love.'

And so it had been.

The dubious rescue on the Death Star, the battles against the Empire, the end of the war, the start of their lives together, the kids, the grandkids...all of that had been theirs together.

And now it was time for Leia to return safely home.

Chewie tapped Han on the shoulder and mewled gently.

Han swallowed. "Yeah, you're right, we need to get going. Luke, you good?"

Luke's eyes were filled with sorrow, but his face was calm. "Yeah," he said softly, as he strapped himself into the passenger seat.

Han closed his eyes for a moment, and then he slowly opened the throttle on the _Millennium_ _Falcon_. The engines whined as they came online. After all these years, that sound still delighted him. This ship, he realized, had been his first love, but Leia was his last. And while a man might always remember his first love, it was that last love that gave life meaning.

 _I'm gonna_ _give you a real nice ride,_ he promised Leia as the _Falcon_ lifted into the atmosphere and soared into deep space.

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Awkward silence filled the cockpit as the _Falcon_ traveled through hyperspace; in a little more than two

hours and they'd be at the edge of what was once the planet Alderaan. Han didn't understand how Luke could sit there, so calm and still, just waiting. The whole Luke as Jedi Master thing still bothered him, just a little, though he ought to be used to it by now. Next to him, in the copilot's seat, Chewbacca seemed lost in thought, his head turned, watching the mottled colors of hyperspace dance around them. He was just as quiet as Luke, but it was different, somehow.

Never one to sit still for long when he was piloting, Han turned to the navicomputer and checked—again—to make sure that the coordinates were set for the edge of the Graveyard, and more importantly, the coordinates where the royal palace once stood until kriffing Tarkin hadblown the world to smithereens. They were right. Of course they were. Han couldn't count the number of times in his life he'd made this exact trip.

"Relax, Han," Luke's voice came from behind him. "Everything is going to be fine. It's for Leia, after all."

"Sorry, kid. It's just that now that I'm doing this, it just has to be perfect."

"Don't worry," said the Jedi. "It will be. I can feel it." Chewie warooed his agreement.

"Easy for you to say,' he muttered under his breath.

Gazing out the window into the ultimate nothing, Han wondered if his friends knew just how much Leia had suffered her entire life, over the end of her world. Luke probably knew, since he and his sister could literally read each other's thoughts and emotions. Han wasn't sure if Chewie did, but he suspected the big lug knew. Long after her recurring nightmares of what she'd witnessed from the Death Star's bridge had passed, she still mourned for the world whose destruction for which she'd always felt responsible. Every year, without fail, she visited the field of rubble, floating in space where Alderaan used to be. Every year, she brought some token of remembrance. Occasionally, on a special anniversary—tenth year, twentieth, twenty-fifth—the public would be in attendance, and Leia would give a speech. Most years, however, it was just them. The kids were included later, once they were old enough to understand. After all, Alderaan was part of their heritage, too.

The family. Han reached out a hand and flicked a switch, connecting the cockpit with the lounge.

"You guys okay back there?" he asked.

"We're fine, Dad," Jarik answered. Even through the speaker, the young man's annoyed amusement was obvious. "Just like we were the last three times you asked."

"It's all good, Dad," added Jaina.

"Yeah, well," Han said as he flicked the switch off again. He'd really wanted to make this trip by himself, but he knew he couldn't not include the children, or Leia's brother. And Chewie, the best friend anyone could ever have; Leia had loved the big Wookiee every bit as much as Han did.

But nobody else. Han had had more than enough of public sentiment, public memorials, public grieving. It had seemed more like public wallowing to him. This, their final moments together, were only for him and the people who'd loved Leia best.

The sound of the warning indicator brought Han's thoughts back to the present. His hand on the hyperspace throttles, he pulled back.

"Cut in the sublights, Chewie," he ordered.

The Wookiee's big hands played delicately over the ship's controls and the mosaic of hyperspace morphed to streamers of light, and finally pinpoints of stars. Outside the _Falcon_ , the immense field of rock that was once the planet Alderaan spread out before them. Leia was going home.

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Han remembered the very first time he'd seen the remains of Alderaan. He'd had no idea what he was seeing, the planet had been destroyed mere hours earlier. The old man and the kid had rushed to the cockpit as the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ entered realspace amid roiling debris, causing the small freighter to shudder each time it was struck. It certainly was different now, he thought, even though the power the destruction was still sobering. Well, at least there wasn't a Death Star lurking in the background now.

Time and physics had taken the unruly rubble from the explosion and stabilized it into a floating sea of rock. There was a Space Station here now that served as a gateway into the ruins, and a museum. Han remembered when Leia had come to its opening, dedicating it to the memory of the billions of souls lost the day of the Alderaan's destruction. That had been a hard day for her, even though she'd smiled and given an amazing speech. That was Leia, her pain her own, her strength for everyone else.

The space station also served as air traffic control for the site. As they glided toward it, Han realized that he ought to have contacted the station before showing up, just to guarantee there wasn't a tour group going through, or some other sort of remembrance. Too late now, he thought, as he reached for the comm.

"Alderaan Station, this is _Millennium_ _Falcon_ ," Han announced. "Anything special going on in there today?"

"Welcome, _Falcon_ , this is station chief Montore," a soprano voice crackled over the comm. "We've been expecting you. You're clear through to the palace coordinates. Safe flying." The voice paused for two beats. "My sorrow at your loss."

Han felt a surge of anger flood through him as heart sped up. It sounded like someone had tipped off the station. He wanted to do this quietly, not deal with the press, or worse, the paparazzi! Somebody was going to pay for this.

Chewie leaned over and cut off the comm, just as Han opened his mouth to speak.

"Hey!" he objected, trying without success to wrestle his hand free from the Wookiee's. "What do you think you're doing?"

Chewbacca whuffled out a longish explanation, hands waving, as Luke rose to stand in the space between the pilot and copilot, a hand braced on the back of each seat.

The flush in the Corellian's cheeks faded and his breathing returned to normal as he listened to his friend. He even smiled, a little sheepishly.

"Thanks for doing that, buddy," Han said. "I was going to comm ahead, but I didn't want the press or anyone getting wind of this. This is my time, not the kriffing galaxy's." Han took a breath, that statement was mostly true, except the part about the comm; he'd plain forgotten. "I'm pretty sure that you're right, Chief Montore probably doesn't want to deal with an angry Wookiee."

"I'm sure she won't tell anyone, Han," added Luke. "She's an Alderaani, and she'd a widow. She

understands."

Han's mouth tightened to a thin line. It sounded like Luke had commed ahead, too. Didn't anyone trust him to get things done right?

"Do you just know this? Or did you contact the station, too?"

Luke's smile was placid, but with a hint of teasing.

"I didn't think it would hurt to make sure everything went smoothly."

"Fine." Han grabbed the control yoke. "I could have handled this myself, you know." With a gentle thrust, he sent the ship forward into the rocks of the Graveyard.

Anakin's voice broke the silence of the cockpit. "Everything okay up there?"

"Yes!"

Han's hand reached down next to the seat. "I could have done this himself," he muttered to the cylindrical urn. In the back of his mind, Han could hear the ghost of Leia's laugh.

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"Chewie, why don't you go back and entertain the kids," Han suggested.

The Wookiee turned incredulous blue eyes at his friend, and howled a defiant negative.

Han wasn't surprised. Even though there was very little danger now when navigating the vast planetary Graveyard, it still required concentration and a gentle touch. A mistaken boost with the thrusters, or an accidental bump against a piece of debris might start a cascade of events that could change the patterns of rock, endangering your own ship, or perhaps a shuttle filled with school children. Han always payed close attention as he headed for the coordinates of the Alderaan palace's former location. And he always had another qualified pilot in the cockpit's second seat.

No, Han wasn't surprised, but he was insistent.

"Yes, I know this isn't the easiest run," Han countered. "But it's not like I've never done it before. I need some time here." The Corellian shot a pleading look at his friend before returning his attention to piloting the ship.

"Chewie, go on back," Luke rose from the seat behind Han. "I've got this." He smiled at the big Wookiee. "I'm a pilot too, in case you've forgotten."

Dead silence filled the cockpit for a beat. Then Chewie hauled himself from the copilot's seat. He rumbled something about stubborn, pigheaded humans as he squeezed past Luke and out into the access tube.

Luke lowered himself lightly into the oversized seat and adjusted himself to reach the controls. However, he made no move to touch them. The two friends sat silent.

"Thanks, Luke," said Han.

"It's no problem."

Han's hands maneuvered the yoke, skillfully skirting an X-wing sized boulder. Han wondered, for the first time, if there was anything left in the rubble besides boulders. If a scientist did a survey; inspected tiny pieces of debris, would they find any speck of life, of humanity?

"Uh, Luke I don't know if this question is too personal or anything…" Han began. "If it is, just tell me and I'll shut up."

"I won't know until you ask, Han," his friend pointed out. The smile on his face made him look like the Tatooine farm boy again, even with the beard and the wrinkles.

"Well, I know that you've said that you've seen, uh, old man Kenobi, and uh, that Yoda guy, and Darth, er…" stumbled Han. "Um, I mean your father."

"Yes?" Luke encouraged.

"I mean, since they died. Like their ghosts or something?" Han steered through the boulders, his hands clenched on the control yoke, his knuckles white.

"I have," said the Jedi.

"Has Leia come to visit you? Have you seen her? Talked to her?" Han rushed out, so fast that a normal person wouldn't have had a clue as to what he said. But his friend did. Han turned to face him, his hazel eyes pleading.

The Jedi master closed his own eyes, and swallowed. His hands opened and closed nervously. With a deep breath, he turned to face Han.

"No," Luke said, so softly Han could barely hear him. When he turned to face the pilot, the Jedi's eyes were filled with tears. "I'd wondered," he continued. "I'd hoped. But the Force is always in motion. Maybe I will someday, or maybe not. I think Leia must be at peace with her life. And her passing."

Han took a deep breath, and shrugged. "Okay. I just thought I'd ask." He spoke casually, but didn't manage to hide the tremor in his voice. He turned back to the debris field.

"Hey," Luke interjected into the awkward silence. "I thought you didn't believe in the Force?"

"Kid, I've lived with it most of my adult life." A crooked grin, ableit a bit shaky, lifted Han's lips. "My wife, most of my kids, my brother-in-law. I've given up the fight."

"See," joked Luke. "Miracles do happen."

"Don't push it, kid."

Any further threats from Han were cut off by the sound of the navicomputer. They'd reached the coordinates of the Alderaan Palace. Han's eyes scanned the area for a good place to rest the Falcon. The ship jerked to a stop when the pilot's eyes took in the two other ships parked nearby.

The string of oaths and curses Han let out were almost drowned out by the shouts and howls coming from the intraship communication system, all asking _what was wrong?_

"How in the nine hells did anyone find out we were here?" Han roared over the cacophony. "Whoever told is going to find out what it feels like when a Wookiee rips them limb to limb, after I give them a gut shot!

"Everyone just calm down and take a breath," Luke said quietly into the chaos. The clamor and bellowing stopped as if someone had flipped a switch.

"I hate it when you do that," Han growled at the Jedi. He'd caught the quick wave of his friend's hand.

"Someone's trying to hail us, Han," Luke pointed out. "I wasn't sure you knew." He raised one ironic eyebrow.

Still grumbling, Han reached over to flip the comm on. A familiar voice filled the cockpit.

"…and if you think you can catch me, hot shot, then you have…"

"Wedge?" Han stared at the comm pickup as if somehow that would help him see the face of the speaker.

"Yeah. Do you always greet your old friends this way?" The comm hissed with interference. "You okay? You're not going to have a heart attack or anything, are you, old man?"

"Very funny," grumbled Han. "Who—?

Chewbacca warooed a greeting from the doorway of the cockpit.

"Never mind," Han turned to look at the unrepentant Wookiee, more surprised than angry. If Wedge was in one ship, odds were that…

"Han? We can leave if you really want us too," Winter's soft voice sounded over the comm.

"Hi, aunt Winter!" Jaina slipped underneath Chewie's arm to stand between Han and Luke.

"Hi, Jaina," responded Winter. "Han, I know you wanted this to be private," she continued. "And when Chewbacca commed us I almost said no." Han could hear the woman's indrawn breath. "The memorial service was lovely, but it was kind of impersonal."

"It was a kriffing circus," Han pronounced. "Is Tycho with you?"

"I'm here, Han."

Now that he thought about it, Han wasn't sure he was even aware that Wedge, Winter, or Tycho had been at the memorial service. There had been too many people, and too much going on; the whole kriffing thing was a blur in his mind. But they were all here now, he thought, all the people who really had been part of Leia's life; who knew the real woman, not the figurehead. Along with her children and her brother, these three had probably been the closest to her. Winter, who'd been her sister before Leia even knew she had a brother; Wedge, who'd fought every battle and always been there with a joke, or a kind word, her 'cuz'; and Tycho, Winter's husband and a fellow Alderaanian. Bless Chewie for remembering them. And he would, after Han skinned him alive for not giving him a heads up.

"It's fine. It's all fine," Han conceded. Reaching down next to him, he pulled out the urn containing Leia's ashes. Cradling it in his arms, he rose from his seat and pushed past Chewbacca and his daughter, and out into the access tunnel.

 _It's time, sweetheart._

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It was silent in the small, aft hold, even though it was filled with seven warm, sentient bodies. The only sounds were the hiss from the open comm, the subliminal hum of the Falcon's repulsors, and the thudding of Han's heart. It was so loud he was sure everyone could hear it.

Han felt his panic rise, though he did his best to quell it. Now that it was time to do the deed, he wasn't sure he was able. Sending the ashes out into the Graveyard was like losing the very last of Leia. There would be nothing left. He didn't move; all he could do was stand there, staring at the receptacle in his hands.

The sound of a sniff brought his head up. His eyes met Jacen's. The young man was doing his best to hold his feelings in, but the oldest Solo boy had always been the most sensitive.

Then, at the sight of Jacen, and the other children, and Luke, Han knew he could do it. He knew he had to send Leia's remains home. After all, it was just ash. The rest of her lived and breathed around him; and within him—he could feel her there, where she'd always been.

"Okay," began Han, pleasantly surprised to hear how steady his voice was. "I'm not one for speeches, that was Leia's job." Han heard one or two laughs as he continued. "I know that Leia always felt a bond with her people, and wanted to be there for them. She did what she could. She couldn't save them, but she freed the galaxy from the Emperor. That's one hells of a payback, I think. Now it's time for her to join them."

The Corellian paused, looking around the small hold. His eyes met Luke's, and Chewie's, and each of his children's before he continued. "It's not like were losing anything, she's in each and every one of us. We'll never lose her as long as we have each other."

Han moved to the small ejector port and flipped on the view screen. The space outside the ship took form. With one hand Han flipped a tiny switch on the urn. He slipped the container into the port, and activated the ejector. The sound of a soft thud indicated was all that indicated the ashes and been ejected. Seven pairs of eyes watched as the urn slowly opened. A soft, white radiance seemed to hover briefly, before it dissipated.

The small group stood there, watching long after the ashes had disappeared. Tears streaked most of their faces; Han could feel them streaming down his own face. One by one, the family moved away, giving Han his space. Luke was the last to leave.

"You okay?" his friend asked.

"I'm fine," Han replied. "I'm fine." Never turning away from the screen, he drew a breath. "Kid, you have to promise me one thing."

"Anything, Han."

"When I go, promise me you'll let my ashes go right here." Han turned to face Luke. "Right here," he insisted.

"I promise, Han." Luke turned and headed toward the lounge.

Han turned back to the viewer as he listened as the sound of Luke's footsteps faded away.

"I love you, your Worship," he whispered to the empty space.

As he turned to join the others, Han froze. He felt the slightest brush of fingertips on his hand, and the velvet touch of lips on his. It had to be his imagination; but he turned back to the viewing port anyway. Just for a second, a blink of the eye, he saw Leia—young and beautiful, dressed all in white. She smiled as the vision faded away.

He loved her, and she knew.


End file.
